


Falling

by bestintheparsec



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28472103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bestintheparsec/pseuds/bestintheparsec
Summary: Frankie's stuck in his head about you.
Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This works as a standalone but I wrote it as a sequel to "A Little Bit of Sugar"

_Frankie matches his stride to yours as you walk down the gravel path back to your place. He tries to pay attention to something, anything, other than the nervous flickering of warmth in his chest—how you pull your coat tighter around yourself when a breeze hits, the sound of your boots clacking on the ground with each step, the colorful holiday lights nearby that cast a subtle glow on your hair._

_It doesn't help._

_He knows the directions well enough now—you’ve only been on a few dates but he’s walked you home every time. You look up at him and say something that makes him laugh, and he tries to let that feeling of ease course through him, willing it to last longer._

_It doesn't._

_He’s afraid he’ll blow it—the fact that he’s been on more than one date with you is already more than he expected. Hell, the fact that you'd even_ wanted _to see him again beyond the coffee shop you'd met at was more than he expected._

_Each time after your evenings together, the only thing he’s given and taken has been a quiet embrace, a question if you’d like to meet up again next week. And each time, you’ve said yes. But it hasn’t been anything other than that. Just an exchange of shy smiles, fleeting gazes, and maybe an awkward laugh as you wave and he walks off._

_Frankie huffs quietly—chuckles at the irony of being beside himself with happiness while simultaneously being unable to act like a normal human being around you. He hasn’t felt this comfortable around anyone new in a long time. Even though it’s only been a few evenings he’s spent with you, he knows himself and the difference in the way he’s been falling asleep a little faster every night, the way he feels the rest of the world and its problems melt away on these few evenings, just for a while._

_And that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to fuck this up. What if you don’t feel the same way—if you’re only hanging out with him as a friend? He shakes his head—that can’t be right. Because that brightness in your eyes when you look at him, how you smile and glance down at the ground when he tells you he enjoyed the night—he knows he mirrors it all. So he can’t be crazy. That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyways._

_You break him out of the brief reverie, mentioning a place you think he’d like to go next time._ Next time _. He breaks out a grin—he really would like it. His hand sways as he walks, lightly brushing against the hem of the back of your jacket. He wants to take your hand, feel its warmth in his, bring it to his lips for the lightest of kisses. But he can't do it._ Too soon, _he tells himself._

_After you’ve both passed the same familiar sights along the path, you finally make it to your house. You turn to face him, and Frankie feels that nervousness creep up on him again. You have that smile that makes him melt lingering on your lips, your hands shoved into your pockets as you look at him, an awkward silence falling between you as you shift your weight from one foot to another._ Fuck, what is wrong with him?

_He tells you again that he had a wonderful time, a genuine softness in his eyes and heat in his cheeks. He feels his heart about to pound out of his chest. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, telling him the same and how you look forward to seeing him again._ Those damn butterflies again _. They seem to give him a nudge, almost as impatient as he is. Something about the glowing street lights and joyful ambiance nudges him a little harder—practically whacks him upside the head to_ just do it _._

_And then…_

_He murmurs a curt_ good night _, turning to head back the way he came, not looking at whatever expression falls over your face as he does._

_Frankie makes it exactly three steps before pausing where he is. He bites the inside of his cheek, briefly closing his eyes before turning back around—you’ve already started turning toward the door._

_“Wait,” Frankie says abruptly, his voice more gruff than he expects as he calls your name. You turn and meet his eyes again, looking at him questioningly as he walks quickly up to you, stopping when he's inches away, before he can change his mind._

_His hand trembles as he moves it to gently cradle your face, your surprised but soft, half-lidded gaze threatening to knock the air out of him._

_“Can I...kiss you?” he murmurs, and before he can even think about what he’s just asked, your lips are on his, his hands on your waist pulling you in closer as he kisses you; delicate, light kisses of his warm lips to yours, a contrast from the biting winter air that surrounds you both._

_~_

_Frankie’s bringing in some firewood from the yard when he sees you pulling up in front of his house. He’s spent the last thirty minutes chopping up some extra wood to make his house more cozy for your date tonight. Really it's just takeout and a movie, but something feels...different about it. You’ve gone to various places for your dates, but never his actual home, not for long. It’s been a rainy, cold week, so Frankie suggested staying in tonight, which you more than happily agreed to._

_The rain has lightened up a little bit, slightly dampening your clothes as you get out of the car and grab your things. Frankie feels his pulse start to quicken, ignoring the mist of cool rain on his skin._ God, even in this weather, you’re breathtaking.

_Truthfully, he’d been thrilled at the idea of having you spend a date night in his home. But he didn’t anticipate the way he was more nervous this morning than he ever had been with you before, and he didn't have a clue as to why. He’s spent the day trying to make sure everything was perfect—cleaning up, making sure he had the food planned, spending a little longer picking out his clothes earlier, everything._ Is this plaid button-up too much? Too little? _It’s been driving him crazy, and he doesn’t understand it. His home is his safe place—a happy place, if he has such a thing. He wants it to be that way for you, too._

_For a split second he imagines you with him at home; not just tonight, but always. Coming home to each other. Staying warm under the covers at night, fresh cups of coffee in the morning. Just as quickly, the thought disappears. It isn’t_ right _. You’re good; too good to him,_ for _him. How can he ever live up to what you deserve?_

_The slam of your car door brings him back to reality._

_Messing with the firewood tonight probably wasn’t the best idea. Your smile fades when you get closer to him, a concerned frown on your face as you ask what happened to him._

_He’d had a little accident when cutting up the wood earlier, giving himself a gash on his cheek, which started to bleed. A lot. It probably looks worse than it actually is._ Because tonight is the perfect night for you to not be able to do anything right, Francisco _. He was going to clean it up after he got done before you got here, but it’d taken him longer than he’d expected to get everything finished._

_He brushes it off, telling you it’s no big deal, just a scratch. Not worth a fuss. Which you don’t buy, at all. Of course. By now you’ve both been standing in the drizzling rain for long enough that your hair has been matted down on your head and your clothes are starting to get soaked through._

_He quickly gestures for you to come inside, the warmth of his home immediately comforting against the frigid chill of the rain._

_“Frankie, please let me help with that,” you tell him as soon as he shuts the door behind you._

_“It’s fine, it’s nothing—” he starts, but you cut him off, telling him you don’t mind and that dinner can wait._ Way to start off the evening right _, he swears silently at himself as he goes to grab the kit. He pulls a towel off the shelf, too, then heads back out to you in the living room. Wrapping the towel around you first, he takes a seat beside you in front of the fireplace and hands you the kit._

_You start picking through it for what you need, but he stops you for a moment. Taking the towel off your shoulders, he carefully wipes away at the beads of rain on your skin while you watch silently. He clenches his jaw, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Once he’s finished, you murmur a soft_ thank you _and he nods once, letting you get back to what you were doing._

_With a gentle hand, you start to clean up the cut. Your fingers trace along his skin as though he’s made of glass; maybe he_ is _right now. But Frankie doesn’t even flinch—he can barely focus on anything except you. Those kind eyes, your pursed lips as you concentrate on the task at hand...There’s definitely something wrong with him, and it’s not the wound on his face._

_Before he knows it, you’re done, tucking everything back into the kit. “There…” you whisper softly, trailing off as your eyes examine your work, your fingers still lingering on his cheek._

_Clean hands on broken skin._

_“Th—There,” Frankie repeats, barely audible. He sees that twinkle in your eyes again, like maybe you’re distracted by other things, too. He feels his chest constrict._

_This isn’t the first time he’s felt like he’s been giving you the short end of the stick. He bites the inside of his cheek, glancing down at the floor. He’s done things; bad things. It’s not fair to keep this...relatively new relationship going, when in the end he has nothing else to give except himself._

_But as much as he feels like he's stringing you along for nothing...everything just falls into place when he’s around you. And the way you make him feel, it's like he has everything worth holding onto._ That has to mean something, right?

_He clears his throat, his mind coming back to you. You watch him with patient eyes, slowly removing your hand from his face. He immediately misses your touch._

_“I—” he blurts out, taking your hand in his, gripping it for a second before letting go. But you take it again, the lightest of smiles on your lips, and Frankie feels warmth rush into his face again._

_Before he can ramble any further, he leans into you, taking your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours. It surprises you at first, but you move closer to him, too. The kisses start out slow, tender, but then deepen as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You reciprocate, running your fingers through his dampened hair as his lips move urgently, desperately against yours, like this can’t last forever. He doesn’t want to think about that. For now, he wants to get lost in you._

_When you finally break away from each other, it’s too soon; it’s always too soon. Frankie’s breathless, resting his forehead on yours, his hand tracing along your cheek, down to your jaw and then resting along your neck._

_He lets a few seconds pass, trying to gather himself before speaking up again. “I...was going to say...I hope you like what I picked up for dinner,” he whispers, shyness suddenly coming over him._

_You chuckle at his attempted change of subject, crinkles under your eyes that make his heart soften even more. When you move your hand onto his chest, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat pounding._

_“It’s—I’m sure it’s perfect, Frankie. Whatever you chose.” You smile at him, and it’s then that Frankie wonders just how long he’s been a goner._

_~_

_Frankie makes his way up the path to your house, the same one he's taken countless times now._

_You’d told him to let himself in once he got to your place, so he opens the door after a few knocks and calls out your name. You don’t answer but the lights are on, and he catches the subtle smell of something burning, followed by some shuffling noises coming from the kitchen. Dinner is at your house tonight, as you’ve both grown fond of staying in rather than being out and having to deal with the bustling crowds._

_He takes off his hat and calls your name again, a bit of concern in his voice this time as he smooths down his hair. You finally respond with a rushed muttering of acknowledgment and he follows your voice to the kitchen. When he gets there, he finds you hunched over, muttering some profanities as you pull a tray out of the oven._

_You set it down and tuck the stray strands of hair behind your ear before turning to look at him. Frankie smiles, that same giddy grin he can’t seem to hold back whenever he sees you—but it drops a little when he takes in the expression on your face now. You look disheveled and exhausted, although you give him a half-hearted smile._

_You and Frankie have been with each other on some of those longer days—the days where everything feels out of place. For many of those days you didn’t even_ know _it was_ that _kind of day for him. But it’s on those days that he’s found comfort, safety in you. Little things, big things; none of it matters when he’s with you._

_“Are you okay? What happened?” he asks, moving closer to wrap his arms around you and place a soft kiss onto your head. When you pull away, you motion at the tray you’d just taken out._

_You tell him you’d been baking pastries when you got home—his favorite kind—a surprise for when he got here. But it was a long day at work, and you were drained, so you’d decided to take a nap while everything was in the oven...and then proceeded to sleep through the timer._

_“Everything’s ruined,” you tell him dejectedly, followed by a soft apology._

_Frankie’s been so focused on the fact that you went out of your way to do something for_ him _that he barely catches on to how upset you are._

_“Hey—wait, no. Nothing’s ruined,” he reassures you, his voice instantly sweeter than sugar as he places his hands on your shoulders, then moves to cup your cheek._

_Frankie thinks of the times you’d been together and things hadn’t gone according to plan—he’s not known for being the smoothest man alive, after all. Times where it was one mishap or another—but then he'd see that playful glint in your eyes, and you would make him laugh about it until his insides ached, and it would make him feel like nothing had gone awry at all._

_“It’s just that...I wanted to do something special for you. It’s not much and it’s stupid, but—” you peer at him with those eyes that make him weak in the knees, and Frankie notices that same grounding warmth appearing in his chest again._

_It's not the first time he's felt unbelievably lucky._

_“Hey, it’s not stupid, silly,” he repeats, chuckling when you gesture dramatically at the burnt pastries on the table. “You didn’t need to do anything for me...you really made my favorites?” A gentle smile plays on his lips._

_You laugh softly and nod, getting a grin from him in return._

_He runs the pad of his thumb along your cheek, nonchalantly stating that you can make another batch and that he can help—you smile back, even though you both know he’s not much of a baker._

_His eyes trace delicately over your features for the first time since he got here. He sees the patches of flour in your hair, on your clothes, and his eyes soften. He can’t believe you’re his —that he’s_ yours _._

_He thinks of how your nose crinkles when you smile after teasing him; how he’ll send you a text during the day when something makes him think of you, only to realize you’d never left his thoughts at all. The way the guys have been well-meaningly teasing him for acting differently lately. The way_ he _hasn’t felt right lately—but not in a bad way—just different; like he was numb for a long time and now the novocaine has worn off._

_And he realizes he’s fallen completely in love with you._

_~_

_It was a rough night for Frankie. He’s been there before—nights where his mind is louder than the sharpest rings of thunder and he can’t get it to shut up, where all else around him seems hopeless, lost._

_Dawn is just barely starting to peek through between the cracks in the curtains when Frankie opens his eyes, unsure of how long he was out for but knowing it couldn’t have been long. He closes them again, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he tries to avoid coming back to his senses._

_But he does come back; back to the cool air on his exposed neck above the blanket, to the weight of himself sinking into the plush mattress. And he finds himself next to something warm—you. His eyes flutter open again, taking in the form of your silhouette in the dark as you lay next to him, fast asleep._

_He’d called you. He didn’t want to—it was late, later than it usually hits him. But you picked up, and you seemed to know before he said a single word. He didn’t even tell you what was wrong at first, just muttered profuse apologies laced through broken whispers. He really didn’t hear much of what you said after that—but just hearing your voice was enough. It’s always enough, more than he ought to have._ I’ll be there soon _, you told him. You hung up before he could argue otherwise._

_That’s how you ended up here, in his arms, though it started off with him in yours._

_He can’t see much of you, but Frankie marvels at the way your quiet breaths steady his own heartbeat, how the fabric of your shirt falls delicately over the curve of your waist where his hand rests now._

_He wraps his whole arm over you, gently pulling you flush against him as you unconsciously tuck yourself into the space below his neck. His mind is still heavy, but simultaneously he feels safe. Home._

_He holds you like this for a while longer, savors the warmth of you against him, the silent peace that washes over him. He doesn’t know if he’ll fall asleep again but he tries, counting his exhales as his fingers trace along your back._

_It’s not long before you stir a bit in his arms, rubbing your eyes as you recall where you are. You put a hand on his chest, then move it to hold his face as you whisper some sleepy words of love and reassurance. They’re words he’s said to you time and time again, as if they’re in limited supply. And you tell him just as often, but he’s always found it hard to let himself believe it._

_You always seem to know exactly what he needs before he realizes it himself—even if it’s the darker hours of the night—and you’re always ready to drop everything just for him...it’s everything he would do for you, although he’d do so much more if he possibly could._

_Frankie knows now. It’s here in the dark, with you in the fragile space in his arms and the hollows of his heart that he knows—you love him just as much as he loves you._

_Your groggy voice fills the silence. “I’ve always wondered ‘why not me’,” you murmur, still half-asleep._

_He caresses your face with the back of his hand, a gentle smile as he asks what you’re talking about._

_“Everyone around me...It seemed like everyone was finding their person. But never me,” you repeat, yawning as you blink your eyes open._

_“But I know now...” you trail off, moving to rest your head on his chest. “I never found anyone else because I was supposed to meet you.”_

_You say it so casually, so calmly but it doesn’t hit Frankie with any less force. You’re too drowsy to think anything of it, but these words will carry him for a long time. Wherever he is, he’s never more at home than when he’s with you._

_You don’t add anything else, simply draping your arm over him and moving in closer as you curl up and try to find sleep again. He’s unable to find the right words to respond, simply leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head._

_Frankie reaches down and pulls the blanket over both of your shoulders, shutting his eyes once again and tries to join you in that state of slumber._ It’ll be easier _, he thinks. You’re here, and he’s home. And you fit perfectly in his arms—you always do._

_~_

“Okay, just keep them closed,” Frankie says with underlying excitement in his voice. He’s standing behind you with his large hands over your eyes, and you’re unable to peek through them.

You laugh with confusion. “Seriously, what are you doing, Frankie?”

He doesn’t answer, just shushes you and carefully guides you forward, helping you sit down on the bar stool by the kitchen counter.

“Okay, okay. You good here?” He asks, resisting and chuckling when you try to pry his hands away.

“Yes, Francisco, now move your giant hands,” you demand playfully.

He releases his hands and you look around, still confused as your eyes fall on the countertop in front of you. “A...cup of coffee?”

He’s still standing behind you, leaning over your shoulder. “Not just _a_ cup of coffee,” Frankie huffs with feigned offense. “Coffee from the shop we met at.”

You chuckle again, still perplexed, but he just puts his hands on your shoulder. “See if you can guess the drink,” he tells you, his tone entirely mischievous.

You raise your brows, but wrap your hands around the paper cup, letting it warm your hands and inhaling the familiar scent of your favorite shop. Finally taking a sip, you concentrate and try to pick out anything that might be different about it, but come up with nothing.

“This is my usual order…” you shake your head, taking another sip and trying to figure out what he’s being so sneaky about.

Still nothing.

You give up, setting the cup down and spinning around on the stool to face him. “Frankie, what—”

But he’s not right behind you—he’s on one knee on the floor. You let out a tiny gasp and swear your heart stops beating as your mind goes from confusion to realization to a complete flooding of surprised emotions. You slide off the stool and stand in front of him, trying not to burst into tears while failing to maintain your composure. Frankie has this timid but equally giddy grin on his face as he looks up at you, holding the black velvet box in his hand.

Frankie’s so distracted watching your reaction that he completely forgets that he needs to _say something now_ , and his mind seems to finally register the apprehension in the rest of his body. The grin changes into a nervous smile as he inhales, then exhales.

“I _—fuck,”_ he trails off, trying to gather his thoughts again as you chuckle with amusement. “I...you know you’re the world to me, and then some,” he starts, a tremor in his voice. “I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you, and I…You make me a better person—hell, you make me _want_ to be a better person…” he continues to ramble as you move closer before dropping to the floor with him, throwing your arms around him.

“You’d make me the happiest man alive if...wait, I mean, I’m already the happiest man alive, but I would be even happier…” His supportive arms embrace you as he laughs, full of relief, and murmurs into your hair between your sobs. “...if you would do me the honor of being my wife.”

He’s so beside himself that he’d missed all the times you’d repeatedly said _yes_ while in his arms, so you tell him again, his face in your hands, and he beams as you pull away to look at him.

Once he slips the dainty, understated ring onto your finger, you pull him back in, his lips meeting yours as he holds you like this is the only place he was ever meant to be—much like how you’d found each other in that quaint little coffee shop what seems like forever ago.


End file.
